Photographic Memories

In a 1994 interview Paul Shepard, professor of Natural Philosophy and Human Ecology, declared that we (humans) were meant to have ‘encountered a beautiful and strange otherness’ as our birthright. For Shepard this otherness grows out of a maternal relationship and is ‘surrounded by living plants, rich in texture, smell, and motion…(and) unfiltered, unpolluted air, the flicker of wild birds, real sunshine and rain, mud to be tasted and tree bark to grasp, the sounds of wind and water, the calls of animals and insects as well as human voices.’¹

Our birthright, in his delightful description, is of a child completely immersed within the natural world and sensuously enjoying that immersion. Shepard goes on a few lines later to state that these surroundings become internalized and incorporated as the self. This concept is reminiscent of the Buddhist notion of non-self, wherein the distinction between I and nature is non-existent.

Sadly, however, the birthright that Shepard would like for all to experience is no longer available to us. We have been stripped of a beautiful and strange otherness. The eco-psychologist, Chellis Glendinning, calls this Earthgrief.

The psychotherapist and grief counsellor, Francis Weller, picks up on Glendinning’s motif and Shepard’s interview answer. ‘We are born…’ he writes ‘…expecting a rich and sensuous relationship with the earth…’ When we do not receive this, we experience a grief that we may not be able to put into words because ‘…we may not even realize (what) we have lost.’²

Weller calls this the Fourth (of five) Gate of Grief, and he admits to not knowing how we know we have been missing this birthright. He does, however, note that when we gain access to this knowledge ‘…a wave of recognition rises that we have lived without this love, this acknowledgment, and the support of this village all our lives.’

How does the recognition of this loss arise? If our birthright has been lost, how do we re-discover it, or remember it?

Photographic Memories

For most of the year we work, sleep, eat, and play in a sanitised and artificial setting. It is the environment we have been adapted to and coerced into since our birth.

Yet once, or twice if we are lucky, a year we get the chance to briefly escape the artificiality by going on holiday. Often, we take this holiday by camping by the sea, trekking in the mountains, or spending time in some other natural setting.

Such short periods of time spent surrounded by a beautiful and strange otherness evokes long dormant memories within our bodies and consciousness.

What do we do? How do we maintain connection with these memories?

Many of us may take photographs. Snapshots of holiday scenes and activities are possibly amongst the most oft taken of photographs. When we look at them later, we are reminded of a beautiful and strange otherness.

Yet, although the photographs are a vicarious substitute for the real thing, they do remind us of the birthright we were meant to encounter.

As we look at these photographs, we may experience a sadness because the experience was so fleeting. There is no shame in suffering a feeling of grief. For that is what is real, and is attested by all three of the authors I have mentioned in this blogpiece – Paul Shepard, Chellis Glendinning, and Francis Weller.

Anyone wishing to delve further into the Fourth Gate of Grief is encouraged to read his book.

Notes:

1. Paul Shepard, Nature and Madness, The University of Georgia Press, Athens & London, 1998

2. Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, North Atlantic Books, Berkeley, California, 2015